


let's spin the world right round

by capaldi



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:37:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capaldi/pseuds/capaldi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take everything you know about Lost Girl, and turn it upside down. AU, there's fae, and college, and undercover shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally a plot reserved for another fandom. i decided to recycle it and surprisingly, it fit really well with the lg characters.

Three hours in and Kenzi’s kind of praying to cut her hand against one of these tapes. Maybe hit a minor artery, just so she could bleed all over the place and at least earn herself a bathroom break. Anything to get out of this hellhole.

Or maybe it’ll be faster to just hold out for that carpal tunnel diagnosis she’s expecting by the end of the month.

Watch, rewind, watch again. Catalogue, next. Forget Chinese water torture. This is the new morally-approved line of interrogation techniques.

She’s lost count of all the surveillance tapes she’s combed through. By this point, she’s basically moving on autopilot, arm reaching for a new tape every now and then.

“Hey, eyes on the screen! We don’t pay you to look at the back of your eyelid,” a guard barks as he passes by her workstation.

“You hardly pay me at all,” Kenzi mutters when he turns out of earshot.

It’s her fault she’s here though, although she’ll die before she ever admits it on record. New job, her first real job, and in her eagerness to impress, she’d accidentally contaminated evidence on an important case. The coffee slipped from the tray before she could react, and even though she tried to brush off the scalding liquid staining the files, there was no escaping the screeching, reprimanding tirade that followed afterwards. Next thing she knows, she’s re-assigned to Evidence.

Officially, it hasn’t even been a week yet, but every second with her eyes glued to the screen feels like an eternity spent. It makes for a terrible atmosphere, manifesting in the form of grumpy, verbally abusive patrol officers. But with every system, there’s always a loophole. She’s practically got the evading down to an art, memorizing the times in between patrol shifts and planning out her naps.

“Kenzi.”

She jolts awake in her seat, ready to spew out excuses of a bad heart, or some ailing sickness concerning her corneas that prevent her from opening her eyes for more than thirty minute intervals. Anything to ward off another round of scolding from higher-ups. When she turns in her chair, she realizes it’s a familiar face.

“D-man!” she almost shouts. Familiar personnel was hard to come by in this black hole of misery, much less a friend.

“It’s work hours Kenzi. Let’s at least _try_ to be professional.”

“My bad Dyson. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you, or like any real human being outside this dungeon. How’ve you been?” Kenzi asks excitedly.

“Good. Well enough to have been assigned my own unit,” Dyson answers.

“Oh my god, congrats dude! When was this?”

“Let’s leave the catching up for later,” Dyson derails from the subject. “More importantly, I came here to find you for a reason, and well...” he pauses, studying Kenzi’s face before continuing.

“How would you like to leave Evidence once in for all?”

_Oh, would she._

\---

Tamsin didn’t expect to be flagged down on her way in. Although, it probably would have been less awkward if she hadn’t been sporting shades and a massive hangover.

“Agent Tamsin!” the woman shouts, rushing towards the elevator.

Tamsin stabs the close button frantically, but the woman already has her leg in the door. Damn mornings.

“How’s your morning,” she asks, with that distinct perkiness that makes Tamsin want to vomit for the second time that day.

Instead, she turns and gives the woman her best glare through the tinted glass. She hasn’t seen this one before. Must be new, especially since anyone would know better than to chat Tamsin up for small talk.

“Anyways,” she continues, seeming to have gotten the hint. “The Morrigan wants to see you. In her office.”

“Right, her office. In case I confused it with her castle in the sky,” Tamsin sneers.

Thankfully, the doors open right then and she slips out, leaving the confused and kind of terrified woman in her wake. She isn’t exactly psyched to see the Morrigan today, what with her looming headache and all, but there does seem to be something unsettling about this meeting. The Morrigan is all about after-hours, so something this early just screams bad news.

She swings past the cubicles, giving customary nods to her colleagues, and stops before the door at the end. She knocks once. Then again, and when the third knock elicits no response, Tamsin tries the doorknob. It’s not locked.

It’s also empty.

Typical, she scoffs. Punctuality is always being herded like some necessary virtue, part of the package of expectations for all the agents. What they really mean are the low-tier, shit-eating agents.

Tamsin takes a seat, sneaking a casual glance at the messy heap on the desk. On top of the pile is a black envelope, no labels. Shit. She’s seen those before.

And suddenly, that unsettling feeling from before just rose two notches.

“Agent Tamsin. Glad to see you’re already here.”

Tamsin jerks from her seat and rises. No one gets the drop on her except for her. She’s never quite figured out how the Morrigan just glides from place to place. As she ponders this, the woman makes her way around to the other side of the desk.

“So, what’s so urgent that you called in this early?” Tamsin asks.

“Rough night?” she rebuffs, amused, pointing to her shades.

Tamsin scowls and takes them off. “What’s it to you.”

“Because I care, of course. Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to our most promising agent,” she drawls. To anyone else, it may sound like a well-veiled compliment, but Tamsin’s known her long enough to detect the dangerous undertones.

“Down to business then. Here,” she tosses the black envelope to Tamsin. “New project. Keep working your current cases but this one takes precedent.”

“Anything extra I should know?” Tamsin asks as she turns the envelope in her hand.

“All the info’s in there. And as you can see by the seal, I haven’t opened it.”

Tamsin laughs. “Since when have you been a stickler for protocol.”

“Never,” she deadpans. “But it’s sealed with Elder Magic. Only people with clearance can open it.”

Tamsin frowns. A file requiring higher clearance than the Morrigan must mean --

“It’s straight from the Council,” she continues, as if reading Tamsin’s thoughts.

“Should I...keep you in the loop then?” Tamsin asks hesitantly. Nothing involving the Council was ever good news.

“It’s best that I stay out of things that don’t involve me. It’s how I’ve lasted decades longer than the last Morrigan,” she points out. “Now off you go then. I’ve got things to do, humans to con.”

Tamsin gives a parting nod before she leaves. Just as her hand grazes the doorknob, the voice behind her starts again.

“Tread carefully on this one. You know how they are. The Council doesn’t take to failure lightly. Screw them over and you won’t get away easily, even if it’s you.”

Ah, here comes the not so thinly veiled threat.

Tamsin turns around, lips curving slightly into a hint of a smile. “Your concern is touching, but really, when was the last time I ever screwed up a mission?”

\---

“Bo. Bo...BO!”

She nearly jumps out of her chair, shrieking in the process, much to the dismay of her roommate.

“Your alarm’s been ringing ever since I jumped into the shower.”

Bo glances at the clock. 10:49. Shit. Deadline’s in an hour, she groans.

“Thanks. Sorry about the noise,” she apologizes.

“Yeah no problem. I just wish you’d take a break and stop working yourself to death.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Bo mutters.

It’s only week one into the semester and she’s already swamped with assignments. If she knew college was going to be such a bore, she never would have falsified her way in. It was such a pain, calling in favors and cashing in for fake papers.

She leans back in her chair, eyes darting to her closet.

_That’ll have to wait._

\---

Well, this is rather…

Unexpected? Anticlimactic? Tamsin doesn’t really know the word for it except that that she was expecting something more serious coming from the Council.

_Assigned Identity: Transfer student for the 2014 Spring Term at Fae University. Target unknown. Wait for further instructions to be delivered._

_Code Name: Valkyrie._

Aside from the standard admittance paperwork, there’s not much else in the file. She was wondering why it felt so light earlier, but really, this is a new level of vague, even for the Council.

Undercover isn’t exactly new to her; becoming an Agent, -- a Fixer -- meant being a chameleon of sorts, taking on new identities practically every other day. Corporate spy, paparazzi for hire, the occasional home-wrecker -- with the right price, anything’s possible, and needless to say, she’s covered quite a lot of ground so far. There’s really nothing they can throw at her that would overstep any boundaries.

But posing as a student? The last time she was in school was several lifetimes ago, literally. And that was just to fulfill some creepy client’s schoolgirl fantasy.

“God I hope there aren’t uniforms,” she mutters, taking another swig of her drink.

She can deal with complicated requests anywhere from finessing through detailed security traps to snuffing a person in their sleep, but school -- well that’s a different beast altogether. The oppressive regime of the education system and the catty likeness of its audience. It’s cesspool of everything Tamsin hates in life.

‘Target unknown’. Those cryptic Una Mens bastards. She just wants this over with, and to go back to the life where the Council isn’t looming over her shoulder and monitoring her every move.

This is the price she pays though, the price she’s been paying for lifetimes.

 ---

“You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“The case file you handed Tamsin earlier this morning. You know what it is.”

“You overheard?”

“Of sorts,” the woman smiles.

“…you bugged my office, didn’t you? Lauren you bastard.”

“I may have, but with your best interest at heart,” Lauren insists. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Why would you assume I know?”

“Oh c’mon Evony. You’d never leave yourself out of the loop unless you were already in on it.”

“I’m starting to regret letting you call me that.”

Honestly, she’s not that taken back by Lauren’s discovery. She’s not sure if it’s just the brainy, all-knowing sciency part of her but somehow, Lauren always seems to know her better than she knew herself.

“Word on the street is that there’s some vigilante about,” Evony lowers her voice. “They’ve been turning over rocks of smaller name crooks and mailing the evidence to the police. It’s all done through some anonymous channel and the press hasn’t gotten their hands on the news yet.”

“Score one for the good guys then,” Lauren notes. “Any ID on the person in question?”

“There’s a tip that it’s someone from Fae Uni.”

Lauren whistles. “A student. Wow.”

“Or staff, or whatever demon thing that’s got our bigger name clients rattled like no other,” Evony adds, grimacing at the thought.

“You think they’ll go after more than just small-timers?”

“It’s only a matter of time, especially when they’ve got help. You remember that stick up our ass last month?

Lauren laughs. “You mean Dyson?”

“Yeah well, guess who’s just been promoted.”

"Oh,” Lauren breaths in heavily.

"Yeah." Evony shoots Lauren a weary look. “You remember how he is, all eager puppy and shit. Now that he’s overseeing practically all our cases, it’s gonna be a shitstorm in the making."

"I assume the Council’'s eager to settle this?"

"Eager doesn't even cover the half of it," Evony shakes her head. "It's not just about losing clients. If the cops start seriously poking around -- let’s just say there are more than just a few skeletons in our closets."

“And you think this is related to Tamsin’s case?”

“Right now it’s all just speculation,” Evony sighs. “But seeing as Tamsin’s one of our best, there’s a good chance she’s being sent to investigate this mystery person. And for some reason, the higher-ups are restricting my access on this case.”

“Speaking of which,” Lauren says. “How _did_ you find out about all of this without the clearance?”

“Like you said, I’m never not in the loop,” Evony remarks. “I’ve got eyes, everywhere. If Tamsin makes a move, I’ll know about it.”

“You don’t trust her?”

“I don’t trust anyone. But it’s not her I’m worried about,” Evony answers grimly. “The Council has a history of ruining careers. If they’re moving to throw Tamsin under the bus, I want to make sure I’m standing as far away from the mess as possible.”

She turns and looks at Lauren, who’s squirming a bit at this line of conversation. Still a softie, she surmises. But beneath the lab coat and brainy pretense, she’s surprisingly ambitious, with equal amount conviction. She minds Evony of herself, except more righteous. It’s why Evony likes her, chooses her to be her right-hand man, so to speak.

“Anyways, I want you to do something for me,” she says, pulling a file from her drawer.

“A case?” Lauren arches an eyebrow. “Since when do I do fieldwork?”

“Well, let’s see. How do you feel about going back to school?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Who _are_ you?”

She doesn’t need to hear the trembling in his voice to know he’s terrified. No, she could smell it from here, the wretched stench of fear permeating her senses.

Amongst other stenches. The grit of city streets, and the obvious dumpster a few feet away from where they’re standing. With their surroundings coupled with the ominous shroud of night, she looks more like a storybook villain cornering an innocent civilian. It’s not her fault he chose to make a beeline for the alley.

“Doesn’t matter,” she replies. “Just answer my question from earlier.”

He laughs a hollow laugh, the kind bred from the insanity of fear. “I can’t do that. They’ll kill me even if you don’t.”

Far from innocent, this one. Dirty scumbag barely touches the surface of his track record. Although, she was no hero either.

“You seem to be mistaken,” she says, edging closer as the man shrinks backwards, back hitting the wall. “I don’t care.”

A blue light emanates from her hand just as her fingers graze the side of his face. He gasps, eyes rolling back, mouth slightly open. His hands fumble around, trying to anchor themselves in that familiar frenzy she’s seen hundreds of times before.

And just like that, just like all the others, the words she wanted to hear start spilling out of every corner of his mouth.

She’s long realized that pleasure is a far greater motivator than pain.

\---

When Evony first mentioned going back to school, Lauren was partially confused, but mostly flattered. Nice to know her collection of skincare products was being put to work. Until she dropped the teaching assistant bit.

Arguably it could have been much worse -- and she didn’t actually fancy the dorm life -- so really, being a TA is quite a suitable cover. It’d be for an Intro class for, _something sciency_ as Evony put it. She gave her a list of classes to choose from. And besides, Lauren’s already done the hard part, the whole becoming a certified doctor. So how hard could playing a pretend doctor be.

She does, however, recall the surge of excitement when the file dropped into her hands, something that’s been amiss for years. It’s just routine for a regular agent but for someone like Lauren who rarely ventures out the four walls of her lab, this was quite the extraordinary opportunity.

It’s not that she dislikes the lab, far from it. There’s an ineffable pleasure derived from conducting her daily experiments and she’s never taken the facilities provided by the Morrigan for granted. But old habits die hard, and sometimes vestiges of her old life penetrate through her thoughts, her dreams and she can’t help but miss that life.

But she’s promised never to look back. _Never forget the reason you’re here in the first place_ , is the bedtime story she tells herself every night.

The folder lies open on the desk, in a messy heap, an unfortunate habit she’s starting to inherit from Evony, along with a whole lot of other vices (excessive drinking being the worst). There was a time that would have horrified her, but things are different now. She used be so sure of the world but now, she understands the importance of really _seeing_ every slight gradient. Good and evil,  those are just words. A child’s words. And she’s long done with playing games.

Her phone vibrates against her leg and she fishes it out of her pocket. She’s been waiting for this call.

“Slight change of plans.”

\---

“Oh my god D-man—Dyson. You did not tell me I’d have my own office,” Kenzi gushes, swallowing every detail of her surroundings with a sweep of her eyes.

“You should thank me. I put in a special request in just for you,” Dyson explains.

Calling it lavish would almost be an understatement. She has her own desk for one, and an ample amount of workspace to go with it. There’s more furniture in this one room than in her entire apartment. Not to mention the gorgeous view from the window.

“This is really, _really_ nice Dyson. I could plop a mattress over there,” she points, “and it’d be just like home.”

“Okaaay,” Dyson steers her away from the room. “C’mon. There’s something I want to show you.”

\---

“Recitation’s on Friday, don’t forget.”

She finally stirs awake at the sound of feet shuffling and the synchronized movement of students piling out of lecture. It’s the only good thing about Intro classes, there’s a much appreciated sense of anonymity with a class size of a hundred and fifty students. Helps with those rough nights.

Although rough nights for normal people are probably more of the partying variety than the saving the world from all that is evil variety.

Bo files out of the classroom in a daydream fashion, all sluggish and in a daze. Probably why she misses the incoming traffic. It doesn’t hit her until quite literally, a flash of white crashes against her.

She doesn’t quite know how, but her instincts kick in and the next thing she knows, she’s holding up the other woman by the arm in an iron grip.

“Wow…” the woman remarks, staring at the place where her hand connected with her arm. “That’s quite the catch.”

“What--oh, oh my god. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking at all,” Bo starts, words manically spilling from her mouth in a fashion that reminds her of the guy last night. Except these words aren’t effected by some higher power. Or so she knows.

“No worries,” the woman smiles, and then gestures to her hand. “So, are we going to stand here, conjoined at the limb or,”

“Oh right. Sorry. I just,” she mumbles, and mentally berates herself for being so awkwardly incoherent. It’s not just the element of surprise that catches Bo off guard, but some enticing quality of the woman that’s really throwing her off her game. Yeah, she’s beautiful, but Bo’s seen her fair share of gorgeous women in her life and none of them have so much rendered her as incompetent as this.

Considering her profile, it takes a lot to intimidate her but right here right now, this woman and her stare has her adrenaline running like she’d just been in a fight.

When she lets go, the woman gives her another smile and a slight wave before heading off. Bo has a hundred questions lined up, just stacked against the edge of her tongue.

She thinks on it for the rest of the day, and nearly trips over a fire hydrant during her night patrol.

\---

“And I thought my office was nice.”

“Have a seat,” Dyson sits behind the desk as Kenzi settles in her chair. “Now, you know how I mentioned I was promoted recently?”

“Yeah?”

“Well before I was promoted, they’d been calling me “the closer” because of how successful I’d been on my recent cases.”

“Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

“It doesn’t end there,” Dyson adds, ignoring Kenzi’s obvious jab at him. “All the cases I’d been working, someone was always leaving me a trail.”

Well that’s new. Kenzi’s kind of impressed. “You have an inside man?”

Dyson shakes his head. “Anonymous tips. Faxes, emails, sometimes the occasional delivery boy. Always coinciding with the second week from when the cases opened. I didn’t believe them at first, but they’ve been incredibly precise with their information. And by that I mean more efficient than even our police force.”

“Right, because the public sector is just overrun with efficiency,” she remarks, and moves on when Dyson shoots her a glare. “And you have no clue who’s been sending them?”

Dyson sighs, running his hand across the smooth surface of the desk. “They’re very...careful with their work. Never any fingerprints. The anonymity was okay in my old division, but here, all my work’s gonna be heavily scrutinized. I can’t be taking any chances with our mystery man.”

“Don’t wanna be walking the low road again?” Kenzi prods.

Dyson glances towards the door before lowering his voice. “Listen, Kenzi. The real reason I’ve been reassigned is because the last officer in my position was brought down on extortion charges. There’s talk of someone feeding officers hush money in exchange for immunity on certain cases. And so far, none of the officers incarcerated on those charges have been willing to talk.”

“So they instated you to keep things prim and proper,” Kenzi deduces. “That’s gotta play on your ego.”

“This is serious Kenzi,” Dyson warns. “I brought you in so you could be my eyes and ears. I need to know that I have someone I can trust, a hundred percent.”

She’s known Dyson for a long time now. A friend, a mentor, someone who’s been there for her at her lowest and never asked for anything in return. It’s about time she starts paying back her debts.

“Ready at your service.”

\---

“Target’s confirmed. What’s the next course of action?”

_“Agent Tamsin is in place. Contact her.”_

“And if she recognizes me?”

_“That would be very unlikely. But in the event that she does, remind her of her place, who she works for. You of all people should know that best.”_

Indeed, she does.

\---

Evony hates the idea of last resorts. It’s reply to something unforeseeable, that insinuates she’s overlooked something. That she’d be so callous as to make a mistake.

No, humans make mistakes. She’s better than that.

“So, what’d you screw over this time. Or, y’know, _who_?”

“Don’t be a smartass Vex,” she replies curtly, ignoring the grin on his face. It reminds her of how desperate she was to even consider using this annoying little bastard. “I just need you to keep an eye on someone for me. Without their knowing,” she adds.

“Anything I can do for m’lady,” he gestures mockingly, “At a price of course.”

“I think you will find my offer quite satisfactory,” she remarks, sliding a face-down check towards him. She smirks as he visibly inhales at seeing the large figure.

“So, who’s the lucky guy,” he asks finally, tucking check away in his jacket.

“Gal,” she corrects. “Here’s her profile and everything you need to know.”

He takes the file, flips through the pages, all the while with raised eyebrows. “Dr. Lauren Lewis. That’s a familiar name. Isn’t she one of yours?”

“That she is,” she stands, and walks over to the other side of the desk, facing him now. “Which is why I want this done discreetly.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“You know my number one rule. Trust no one. Besides, if she’s clean then she’s got nothing to hide.”

“But you think she does,” Vex points out. “You don’t do things on a whim.”

He’s not wrong, but she doesn’t exactly have any tangible incriminating evidence either. It’s largely her intuition, except she can count on one hand how many times her intuitions have betrayed her. In the end Evony is a Fae, a professional in her work, and Lauren is just a human. And despite how much her poker face has improved since being taken under Evony’s wing, there are just classic sentiments she can’t hide. Evony reads people like Lauren reads those scientific journals of hers, and Evony knows a great opportunist when she sees one because she sees it in the mirror every morning.

And Lauren is nothing short of great.

\---

Admittedly, she’s never been good with directions but if Tamsin had known the campus would be this big clusterfuck of a maze, she’d have grabbed a gps instead of this useless, flimsy map. She didn’t count on finding a dormitory to be this difficult.

And where exactly is her contact anyways. She’d received a call this morning from the Council, that her contact would be here to greet here. But here she is, lost in the terrible crowd of hormonal teenagers with no exit in site. She couldn’t imagine a worse place to be.

“Hey there.”

Great. She’s managed a full fifteen minutes before being hit on.

“Look asshat, I’m not interes--”

She turns around and surprisingly, it’s not the dead-eyed college jock she was expecting, but a rather lean standing blonde instead. Oh, and easy on the eyes.

“--sted,” Tamsin finishes. There’s something about the woman, like a certain familiarity she can’t quite pinpoint.

“Not the sweaty, bullying macho-man you were expecting was it,” the woman smiles.

“Whatever,” Tamsin folds her arms together. “Still not interested.”

She laughs, in that annoyingly attractive way that women who get all the guys at bars do, and Tamsin has this overwhelming urge to slap her almost.

“Well how’s this for interest, _Tamsin_.”

She stiffens at the mention of her name, muscles tense and ready. She didn’t think a hot blondie would make her list of enemies, but considering her past, anything’s possible. They’re in a public area though, so she doesn’t _think_ the woman will try anything but it never hurt to be on guard. Besides, just from a quick run-down, Tamsin could totally take her.

“Relax, Valkyrie,” the woman accentuates the word. “The Council sent me.”

It dawns on her now. “ _You’re_ my contact? I wasn’t aware the Council’s doing on campus recruiting now,” Tamsin quips.

“Your Handler actually,” she corrects. “And I’m out on another job, outsourcing shall we say.”

She throws a folder at Tamsin, which almost smacks her in the face as her fumbling hands catch it right in time. Goddamn, everything about this woman is throwing Tamsin off her game.

“Here’s the first stage of your mission. I’ll be around to hand you the rest of the briefings when they come,” the woman explains, no longer smiling. “Oh and I’m Lauren. Or in terms you can understand, Agent Lewis.”


End file.
